Head of Slytherin House
by mak5258
Summary: Snape became the Head of Slytherin House one inauspicious morning in October. (Rated for the f-bomb Snape drops when he's hungover...)


It was six in the morning, and somebody was knocking on his office door. Six in the fucking morning.

It was the first Saturday in October. The night before had been his first Friday night without duties, and Saturdays were always free (except the two Hogsmeade trips he was contractually required to supervise). He'd spent his Friday night in a Muggle pub, drinking whiskey and shamelessly Confunding the bartender to get a few free shots in. He hadn't even ended up having to pay, since he'd gotten himself kicked out for fighting. A good brawl.

It was the sort of Friday night his da would've been proud of him for having, which turned whatever release he'd found in the outing sour.

It was early, he was hungover, he was sore, he was angry, and somebody was knocking on his office door.

Severus threw the door open. It wouldn't be as fantastic as his classroom entrances since he was in a dressing gown instead of robes and he hadn't shaved yet, let alone combed his hair, but he figured he might get his message across anyway.

"What," he snarled.

Ian Gardner, a third year, stood in his doorway. The boy was a Slytherin, though he had the misfortune to come from similar stock to Severus himself. His mother had been a Malfoy, and she'd been disowned when she'd married a Muggle-born. (Not quite so bad an offense as Eileen Prince, but it didn't take much with those old families.) Gardner had been raised in a house with Muggle touches, visiting Muggle grandparents, and he'd been Sorted into Slytherin House. He was the punching bag of the common room, it was plain enough to see. He had a friend or two, but they were Ravenclaws.

"I was wondering if you had Bruise Paste I might use, sir," the boy said. He stood up straight and looked him in the eye when he asked, which would've earned him some credit if Severus hadn't been hungover.

"Go to Pomfrey for that. Or, better yet, your Head of House."

"Pomfrey'd ask me who did it, sir," Gardner said. "And Riviera'd say I was tattling."

There were more than a few things Severus would've liked to say about Riviera—and more than a few things that he _did_ say about the man when he was meeting privately with the headmaster—but none of it was appropriate in front of a thirteen-year-old student. As the most senior Slytherin member of staff, Riviera had been made Head of Slytherin when Slughorn left and Severus replaced him teaching Potions. For this second school year, Riviera had taken on the post of Defense, transferring from teaching Runes; it was looking like the Dark Lord's curse on the position would hold true with Riviera as it had with all the others.

"Please, sir," Gardner said, and Severus realized he must've been standing there looking at the boy for too long without speaking.

There were no explanations needed, of course. Everybody in Slytherin House, as well as most of the staff, knew who'd dealt Gardner the shiner. It also would do very little good to intervene—the culprit was a Malfoy, and he'd claim it was a bit of fun between cousins, and Dumbledore would never interfere because there were so many Malfoys and Malfoy relations on the Board of Governors.

Damn them all. And damn their cousins, too.

"Useless, the lot of them," Severus muttered, not exactly sure who he was talking about. The boy nodded as if he'd spoken some deep existential truth, and was clever enough to hold his tongue while he followed Severus into his office.

The Bruise Paste was in a round, flat tin small enough to fit in Severus's palm. The Paste itself was orange and smelled faintly of sandalwood, not unpleasant if a bit gummy to the touch.

"Sit," he instructed, pointing to the tall stool. Gardner was small for his age, too small to be allowed to sit in the chair and spread the Paste on his face himself. The boy sat as instructed, back straight and face presented. "Hold still."

The boy was small, not quite scrawny but certainly too small to defend himself against such attacks the way Severus had learned to. He had that child's warmth to him, too. Something innocent and fresh, like the moment you roll out of bed when you're still warm from blankets.

"Are you any good at Charms?" Severus asked once the Paste coated the bruise. Gardner would have to sit with the one eye closed for a minute or so while the Paste did its work.

"Top of my form," Gardner said, no hiding the note of pride. "I always earn a couple points for the House off Flitwick. Every class."

"Hm," Severus said. "Good."

"Sir?"

"I have a spell you should learn. It might help with this… difficulty. And I will be allowed to sleep on my weekend."

"Sir?" Gardner asked, more hesitantly, as if he only then realized that a professor might want a lie-in on a day free of classes.

"What do you say you meet me after breakfast here in my office. It's a difficult spell, but you might just be able to handle it."

"Thank you, sir!"

"Hold still, boy. Keep your eye shut."

"Yes, sir. It's shut, sir."

Severus made him sit still for another minute, and then conjured a flannel to wipe away the Paste. The bruising had cleared up nicely, no discoloration and no swelling remained. It hadn't been that horrible of a hit, after all. Purebloods never did know how to throw a decent punch.

"To breakfast with you," he said. "Back here in an hour."

"Yes, sir!"

Severus sat behind his desk once the boy was gone and ran his hands through his hair. He'd just signed himself up for a hell of a lot of work. He'd teach the boy _levicorpus_ , and that would take time. He'd also essentially volunteered to provide little fixes for Gardner, and that was due to be an annoyance.

He bloody hated children; he really did.

Gardner arrived promptly. Severus had barely had time for a shower and a shave.

"I brought toast, sir," Gardner said. "If you want some."

Severus softened. The boy was truly desperate for some help, then. Slytherins didn't do anything for free, but they could trade their services. If all he had to trade was a bit of toast pilfered from the Great Hall…

* * *

That was the day Severus became Head of Slytherin House. Not officially, of course. That wouldn't be until the following school year. The Slytherins knew better, though. They brought him their little issues. They asked him about careers and sent first years to tell him when they mastered a new spell.

It was only a month before he started thinking of them as _his_ Slytherins. He bought a book about mediating disagreements from a Muggle shop. He treasured their successes, whether it was the utterly stupid and mundane things the children cared so deeply about or the larger successes of passed exams or secured internships. He didn't have many contacts outside Hogwarts, fewer still contacts that were worth shit, but he did what he could for them.

His second year as official Head of Slytherin, his House won the Cup for the first time since Lucius Malfoy had been Head Boy. He lorded it over Minerva for all he was worth. Especially when his Slytherins would hear. (So they'd know he was proud of them.)


End file.
